


🎄 A Truly Lovely Christmas 🎄

by LadyGlinda



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Post-Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem, Sibling Incest, Texting, holmescest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 01:27:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21669091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGlinda/pseuds/LadyGlinda
Summary: After Sherrinford, the brothers have got closer via texting. On Christmas Eve, Sherlock drops by and things get nice and sexy.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Sherlock Holmes
Comments: 23
Kudos: 96





	🎄 A Truly Lovely Christmas 🎄

“Sherlock?” Why did he let it sound like a question? It was most certainly Sherlock, all long-coat-high-cheekbone-attractiveness.

His brother refrained from teasing him with stating the obvious. “Good evening.”

“Um… Do come in...” Mycroft Holmes took a step back so his little brother could enter his house.

Never before had Sherlock shown up on his doorstep on Christmas Eve. With a bag in his hand. He was wearing his black leather gloves and the scarf Mummy had given him for last Christmas. His cheeks were flushed due to the cold, his coat collar turned up. He had certainly arrived in a cab but he still looked rather frozen.

“Thank you.” Sherlock entered the house and listened into it.

There was nothing to hear. Mycroft was alone. Had been alone, so far. Like every Christmas that he wasn’t forced to spend with his parents. After Sherrinford, they were obviously not in the mood for a big celebration. Or for their sons… Which was completely fine with him, and he doubted very much that Sherlock minded. Sherlock didn’t like Christmas and he could endure their parent only so long. Which wasn't long at all. Mycroft would have thought he liked to spend the holidays by basically ignoring their existence. And still he was here…

“What’s in the bag?” he asked when Sherlock put it onto the small round table next to the door to take off his coat.

“Our dinner. You mind?”

Mycroft looked at him for a long moment. “No. No I don’t.”

“Chose to not warn you.” Sherlock took off his gloves and stuffed them into the coat pockets.

Obvious. Sherlock had thought _[feared?]_ he could say no. Mycroft had never been particularly fond of Christmas, nicely put.

\-------------------- --------------------

“ _Oh dear lord, we’re not going to have Christmas phone calls now, are we? Have they passed a new law?”_

“ _You hate Christmas.” – “Yes. Perhaps there was something in the punch?” – “Clearly. Go and have some more.”_

_\-------------------- --------------------_

_Not a good memory. Neither of them. But this was in the past. And what was in the future?_

“I’ll get the cutlery.” He wouldn’t eat out of plastic boxes. With plastic forks. There were limits.

“I’ll wash the dishes.”

Mycroft smiled. “I do have a dishwasher, Sherlock.” He recalled the last time Sherlock had been in his house. Uninvited. Bringing three ghastly people… This was so much nicer.

“Oh. I don’t. Well, actually I do. Mrs Hudson.” He grinned and it made him look twenty years younger. His eyes were so bright in the light of the lamp directly above him.

His resolute landlady would have probably thrashed him with a tea towel for this cheekiness. “She’s not there for Christmas I suppose.” They had started making their way through the hallway.

“No. Neither is John. Celebrating Christmas with his sister and his new girlfriend.”

“I see.” Hadn't wasted much time to find a substitute for his so-beloved late wife, the good doctor. What a hypocrite he was. Violating Sherlock because he blamed him for his loss – and then taking someone else to bed just a few months later. But Mycroft supposed he was also looking for a new mother for his daughter. It didn’t make his violence any better though.

“I thought… I could as well… spend this evening with you.” Sherlock's cheeks were still coloured. Still from the cold? He was blinking faster than usual, too.

“A good idea,” Mycroft said softly. He had not expected this. But then – he wasn’t completely surprised, either. And of course he was very happy Sherlock had come.

Things had changed between them, gradually, since Sherrinford. They hadn’t met in person very often and when they'd had, it had been for cases. But they had been in contact via texting. Much more than before this… debacle. And little by little, their conversations had become… more personal? Affectionate even? As affectionate as they could muster, that is.

\-------------------- --------------------

 _ Little sister _ _ keeps being unresponsive. Will try again next week. SH _

_ I admire your persistence. Let me know when so the helicopter is available. MH _

\-------------------- --------------------

Sherlock had brought more than dinner (Italian, from his trusted half-criminal friend Angelo). The bag contained a tiny Christmas tree made of glass and a red candle with cinnamon flavour. “Thought you wouldn’t have any decoration,” he said while putting it onto the table Mycroft was setting up with plates and cutlery. His voice sounded a tad defensive – as if he expected Mycroft to tease him with being sentimental.

He didn’t. Sherlock had never understood that sentiment was a good thing – but only under certain circumstances.

\-------------------- --------------------

_ Back in my flat. Clients can come again. SH _

_ The patience grenade wasn't quite as efficient as I thought. Shouldn’t have ordered any. MH _

_ Sell them to the Americans. SH _

_ Brilliant idea! MH _

😊  _ SH _

\-------------------- --------------------

“Got that from a client?” Mycroft gestured at the toy-tree which was small but looked rather massive. Almost a deadly weapon, when thrown with force… Hopefully it wouldn’t be…. Mycroft had also brought a bottle of red wine and provided each of them with some. A good one, naturally.

“No. Molly brought it along.” Sherlock put some pasta on Mycroft's plate. He had bought two different sorts and it seemed they would share both. They both looked and smelled very appealing. _Carbonara_ sauce and _pasta al forno_.

“Ah. How is she doing?” The droll, loyal Miss Hooper. Another one of Eurus’ victims. One of the few that had not paid with their lives…

Sherlock shrugged. “Okay I think. John explained everything to her.”

The _‘I love you’_ game. It had seemed to trouble his brother more than watching people die in front of his eyes… Eurus had known well enough how difficult sentiment was for Sherlock, no matter how much he thought he had become _one of them_. And faking it for getting what he wanted was one thing but this situation had clearly caught him off guard. Well, if Mycroft had been forced to say these words, he would have failed sadly. In the end, nothing would have happened then though. It still irked him that he had not been able to figure out that there was no plane, either…

Sherlock looked up. “She knew I didn’t mean it.”

Mycroft nodded. “I suppose so. Quite useful though.”

His brother winced. “I do… appreciate her. What she does. Yeah. She's useful.”

\-------------------- --------------------

_ Paris. A beautiful place. Full of imbeciles. MH _

_ Conferences must be a special form of torture. Try not to kill anyone, brother. SH _

_ No danger here. In opposite to your sidekick, Anthea doesn’t carry a gun. MH _

_ That was a low-blow. SH _

_ Apologies. MH _

_ I know it horrified you. Magnussen. I would not do it again. SH _

_ I am very glad to hear that. MH _

_ I don't think his death is a loss to the world, either. SH _

_ It is hard to argue against that, little brother. I should have taken care of him myself. MH _

_ You had your reasons. Politics. SH _

_ I can imagine your grimace when you wrote the last word. MH _

_ We can't all love it, dear brother. SH _

_ I do not. I just do what is necessary. MH _

_ So did I. But I'm sorry about all the… hassle. SH _

_ Try to visit the Louvre at least. Take the time. SH _

_ I will. Anthea sends greetings. MH _

_ I don't believe that. She hates me. SH _

😂  _ This is not true. MH _

_ I need to go now. Have a good day. MH _

_ And you. SH _

\-------------------- --------------------

“You haven’t asked for the helicopter. Not planning to see our sister during the holidays?” In fact he hadn’t asked for having his trip organised for a while. Even their parents hadn't gone to the prison lately. Well, he had told them she was unresponsive.

Sherlock shook his head. “No. In fact… I won't go there so soon again. If at all.”

Mycroft narrowed his eyes. “She didn’t try to manipulate you?” He had seen the feeds. Every time. He had not seen any attempt at this. Basically they had just been playing the violin. And Eurus had been smiling. Smiling as if she had been in other spheres.

“Nothing like this. She's just… lost.”

Mycroft relaxed. “I told you.”

“You did. I had to try.”

Poor Sherlock. Always thinking he owed people… his attention? Emotion? Savoury? Even Eurus? Mycroft could have told him it wouldn’t make any sense. He had tried it, too. Years ago. Had gone to Sherrinford regularly, trying to reach his little sister. He had always made sure she wasn't bored, that her brain was occupied. And look how she had thanked him… But perhaps he was still alive because of this. In the end, he had been at her mercy after Sherlock had blown up her game and they had been sedated, and she hadn't done anything to him but locking him into her cell.

And he would never forget the moment when he had woken up from his chemical-induced slumber and had not known if Sherlock was still alive. After all the searching for him in drug dens, cases almost gone lethally wrong, being shot by Mary Watson, this was still the most horrible situation Mycroft had ever had to endure. If Sherlock had died, it would have been his fault. And he wouldn’t have been able to live with it.

\-------------------- --------------------

_ Your suspicion was correct. It was Agent Smith. I found the documents in his garage. SH _

_ Excellent work. Anthea will come to fetch them. And give you the cheque. Thank you. MH _

_ My pleasure. SH _

\-------------------- --------------------

“The pasta was fine. If I had known you'd come, I'd have made some dessert.”

Sherlock grinned and bent down to his bag again. “What a coincidence.” He took out two little glasses with chocolate mousse.

Mycroft smiled. “You know, Sherlock…”

“Yes. The universe is rarely so lazy.” Sherlock smiled back.

\-------------------- --------------------

 _ Do people really get stupider with every day?  _ 😈  _ SH _

_ I’m afraid they do. I might have an interesting case for you so do not fret. MH _

_ Oh please, yes. I'm all ears. SH _

\-------------------- --------------------

“I might have made punch,” Mycroft admitted when they had finished their – outrageously tasty – dessert.

Sherlock gave him a surprised look. “So you do celebrate Christmas.”

“Only in a very modest way. Care to share it with me?”

Sherlock looked at him with a weird expression. “I’m sorry, you know.”

It didn't take a genius to know what he meant. “Are you planning to poison it again?”

“It wasn’t _poison_ , Mycroft. But no. Of course not.”

“Then you are forgiven.” That moment when he had woken up on that last ghastly Christmas. Betrayed in more than one way by the brother to whom he had just said embarrassing (but true) words of sentiment, minutes before he had lost consciousness. Everything for the Watsons. His family…

“It’s not exactly the only thing I should say sorry for.”

“Ah, it’s Christmas, whatever that actually means. The time for forgiveness, hm?” He would always forgive Sherlock. For everything. He just hoped he wouldn’t have to do it again.

Sherlock nodded. “Thank you, brother. For that and...” He broke off but Mycroft understood him anyway. Sherlock’s incredible eyes told him.

_Thank you for never letting me down. Thank you for having my back. Thank you for being a decidedly not-rubbish big brother._

After Sherrinford, Mycroft found that debatable. He had failed Sherlock horribly. They could only thank Sherlock's cunningness for having all escaped in one piece.

And now Sherlock read his thoughts. “Forget it, Mycroft. It wasn’t your fault. I told you before. In fact nothing that concerned us has ever been your fault.”

And Mycroft smiled at him, feeling too touched to say a word, and he more or less fled to warm the punch.

\-------------------- --------------------

_ What are you doing, Sherlock?! MH _

_ Calm down. I’m fine. At home again. SH _

_ I wish you would stop trying to catch criminals on your own. MH _

_ Lestrade said the same. And it’s just a scratch and I, in fact, did catch him. SH _

_ He is a very wise man. And you are too reckless. MH _

_ I won’t do it again. SH _

_ Ha. MH _

😊  _ SH _

😡  _ MH  _

_ I just did my job. SH  _

_ And I’m worried. MH  _

_ I am fine. Really. And I promise to be more careful in future. SH  _

_ That is all I can expect. And I do. MH  _

😇  _ SH  _

_ Sleep, brother mine. MH  _

_ And you. SH  _

\-------------------- --------------------

It was impossible to pull his look away from Sherlock. The warmth in the room and the punch had brought a healthy colour to his usually so pale face. The skin over these amazing cheekbones was flushed red, his lips were glowing pink in the light, and his eyes… Nobody should be allowed to have such eyes.

Mycroft could feel the warmth of the alcohol in his stomach. Perhaps he’d already had too much. His brain felt a tad dizzy. Pleasantly dizzy, in fact.

Far away seemed to be the chores of his days. The responsibility that was always weighing on his shoulders, which made it impossible to relax. The information, the threats, the trouble – they all used to follow him into his sleep.

But now… He was sitting on his comfortable couch. Sherlock was sitting next to him. Propped up against two pillows on his other side, he was sipping at his punch. “Good stuff,” he said, not entirely coherently.

Mycroft smiled. His brother had taken every drug under the sun, but hot alcohol seemed to still get him. “Yes. On Christmas!”

“Hear, hear! S’good Christmas, huh?”

“Yes.” Definitely the nicest one Mycroft could remember since… their childhood.

Boy Sherlock had loved the holidays. Of course he had not believed in Father Christmas, but he had known their parents would buy him what he desired most at this time. Mostly it had to do with experiments of sorts. And how happy he had been about the wooden sleigh, a gift from their grandmother. How much fun they had both had with it, Sherlock sitting between Mycroft's legs, safe in his arms, racing down the hills. They had usually ended up in the snow head first, and they had both laughed like mad.

These had been the good times. Mycroft didn't want to think of the bad ones. When Sherlock had retreated into himself more and more. When he had said nothing else but hurtful, snarky things to him. How he had been sulking during the Christmas dinners and whenever he had been forced to spend time with him and their parents, let alone other relatives. Everybody had become his enemy. And it had hurt Mycroft.

He winced when a heavy head slumped against his shoulder. “Don’t,” Sherlock mumbled. “Now is all good. You and me. Was nasty.”

Mycroft's arm sneaked around his brother’s shoulder as if it had its own mind. Even when tipsy, Sherlock could still deduce his thoughts. “I told you. All forgiven. And I'm glad you’re here.”

\-------------------- --------------------

_ I’m bored. SH _

_ Well, sorry to hear that. MH _

_ What are you doing? SH _

_ Working, little brother. MH _

_ How boring. SH _

_ Yes. MH _

_ We are both bored then. SH _

_ We are. But some of us still have to do their work. MH _

_Now_ you _are boring. SH_

_ I know. Sorry. MH _

_ Ah, a client. Thanks for the distraction. SH _

_ Anytime, brother mine. MH _

\-------------------- --------------------

Sherlock leaned against him, his hand searching purchase, and it found Mycroft's thigh. Mesmerized, Mycroft stared at those long, beautiful fingers, sliding over his leg. Higher. And higher.

The air was crackling. Warmth was spreading out from the part of his leg that was covered by Sherlock's hand. Spreading out to his groin. His eyes darted over to Sherlock's – and his brother was looking up to him through his long, black lashes and his full lips were slightly parted.

\-------------------- --------------------

_ Sorry it took me so long to answer. Was taking a bath. Will look into the case in a minute. SH  _

_ No problem. I will be in a meeting for the next two hours anyway. Don’t catch a cold. MH _

_ Ah, wrapped in my bathrobe. The one you gave me for my birthday. Glad it didn’t burn when the flat went up in flames. SH  _

_ I’m glad  _ you _didn’t go up in flames, little brother. And I’m happy you’re wearing it. MH _

We _, Mycroft. We do share some crazy memories, don’t we? SH _

_ Yes. Never ran faster. Mrs Hudson hit me in the face when I tried to get her out. MH _

_ Fond memories indeed.  _ 😂 _ SH _

_ It was close. And then it only became worse. My fault. MH _

_ Oh, Mycroft. You did your best indeed. SH _

_ So I’m very limited… Mr Grown-Up. MH _

_ They didn’t mean it. You know they forgave you. For other people’s failures! SH _

_ They did. But yes. They tried to forgive me. I’m glad… you did. MH _

_ There was nothing to forgive. The people in Sherrinford were to blame, not you. SH _

_ We could discuss about this all night… MH _

_...and you still wouldn’t believe me, I know. You should though because I am right. SH _

_ The case looks interesting. I will let you know as soon as I have something for you. SH _

_ Thank you. Get dressed before you lose yourself in your mind palace. MH _

_ It is warm here. And the robe is very comfortable. Here. See for yourself. SH [Picture attached] _

_ Oh. Very nice. Suits you. MH _

_ You got it for me. Of course it does. SH _

_ Never thought you would admire my taste. MH _

_ Your taste has always been impeccable. SH _

_ Good to know. MH _

_ As if you didn’t. SH _

_ I need to go. Put on socks at least. MH _

_ And pants? SH _

_ Better, yes. Good night. MH _

_ Good night, brother mine. SH _

\-------------------- --------------------

Sherlock wasn’t nearly as tipsy as he had seemed to be. His eyes were clear. And the expression...

“Sherlock...”

“Don’t say anything now, Mycroft. And don’t pretend you didn’t see it coming.” His voice was nothing but a whisper but the tone was firm.

\-------------------- --------------------

_ I just got home. Found your package. Don’t know what to say. Thank you, obviously. MH  _

_ Happy birthday again. Should suit you. Blue is your colour. And who gets sent to a bloody conference on their birthday? SH  _

_ You know I like to forget this day. Just like you. And the shirt is very nice. Very considerate of you. MH  _

_ Put it on and send me a picture!  _ 😊  _ SH _

_ Okay. Here it comes. MH [Picture attached] _

_ What did I say? You can wear all the strong colours but this blue... You look very good. SH _

_ Stop flattering me. I’m not the handsome one. MH _

_ Says who? SH _

_ My mirror. MH _

_ Well, it is wrong. SH _

_ Right, Mr Thick-Curls-Sharp-Cheekbones-Flat-Stomach-Broad-Shoulders. MH _

_ You really believe this. And I thought you were the smart one. SH _

_ And thanks. We Holmes men are all good-looking in our unique ways. SH _

_ You certainly are. I must dash. Back to the office. MH _

_ Of course. Bet the work is piling up. SH _

_ It certainly will be. Talk very soon. MH _

_ Yes. Welcome back. SH _

\-------------------- --------------------

He was right. Mycroft had seen it coming. No, not exactly seen. Hoped. Feared. This was impossible. Out of any question. Madness. The road to doom.

Then why were his fingers gliding through Sherlock's curls, caressing his scalp? Why was his face moving forward, not backward?

And why were his lips suddenly pressing on Sherlock's?

Still he was determined to stop this. While he was kissing his brother, his tongue gently pushing against his. And then Sherlock took his hand that was about to shove him away – and laid it onto his chest. His heart was hammering under Mycroft's shivering fingers.

“For you, brother mine,” Sherlock whispered, his pupils blown, his eyes pleading.

He didn't want to stop. He knew they should. But Sherlock had chosen him. Over everybody he could have had. He had never had anyone. Not even the cheeky Miss Adler.

\-------------------- --------------------

_ You never asked me about Irene. SH  _

_ Oh, yes. John gave away she is still alive. You did fool me. Congratulations. MH  _

_ She will never come back to England. Texts me once or twice a year. She won’t cause any more trouble. But I didn’t like the thought she could be killed because she fell for me. SH  _

_ It would have happened because she is a blackmailing criminal, Sherlock. MH  _

_ I know. But I gave her to you. I just felt I had to save her. And nothing ever happened. Just wanted you to know. SH  _

_ Certainly for the better. Thank you for telling me. MH  _

_ Even everything else aside – I am not into women. SH  _

\-------------------- --------------------

There was no noise but their panting. Clothes were removed and put aside without looking. Hands were exploring exposed skin. Skin that had never been caressed by anyone – respectively not for a very long time, and never with such reverence.

Mycroft ended up on top of his brother. His lips sucked a light bruise into the tender skin of Sherlock's neck. His tongue swirled in his ear, his teeth gently pulled at his earlobe. Sherlock’s hands were sliding over his back, his shoulders, his sides. His long legs were slung around his body, both of them naked except for their pants.

Mycroft moved downwards on his brother’s exquisite body. His lips sucking two small, dark nipples, his tongue lapping over the sculpted stomach, following the trace of black hair from his navel to his pubes, just so visible above the seam of his not-quite-in-place blue pants. He looked into Sherlock's eyes, searching for permission. He had stopped wanting to stop – or better stopped telling himself he should. There was no stopping anymore.

Sherlock nodded and slipped out of the pants, his knee hitting Mycroft's stomach accidentally. He didn’t even flinch, his eyes glued to the big, pink part of Sherlock that had slapped against his plane stomach.

\-------------------- --------------------

_ Back from your little adventure in Spain? MH  _

_ Yes. Case solved. Painting back where it belongs. SH  _

_ Good job, little brother. MH  _

_ I’ve missed London. SH  _

_ It was only four days. MH  _

_ Still. Missed Rosie. The rain. You. SH  _

_ I am glad you are back. MH  _

\-------------------- --------------------

He would always remember all the firsts of this night. The kiss. The worshipping of Sherlock's lean, beautiful torso. The first time his lips closed around his brother’s stiff, dripping cock. The taste, sweet and salty. The moans his actions elicited from his baby brother.

He had not sucked a man’s penis for about two decades. And he had never liked doing it that much. But now it felt like such a natural thing to do. The taste, the silky texture of the skin. It was mesmerising. And Sherlock’s reactions made it a very arousing experience. He could have lapped and suckled at him forever.

“Please... I need more.”

Mycroft looked up, letting him plop out of his mouth. “We don’t have to do everything at once...”

“I know. But I need you. Now.”

And Sherlock's eyes told him that he had been fantasising about this. For weeks. Months?

Mycroft had not dared do this. He had seen it coming on some level. But he had never believed it would.

\-------------------- --------------------

_ Are you okay? You looked a bit pale earlier. SH  _

_ Oh, it’s nothing. A bit of a cold maybe. MH  _

_ Take care of yourself. Do you need anything? SH  _

_ I will. And Anthea brought me some ginger tea. It always helps. MH  _

_ The ever-efficient Anthea. SH  _

_ She is. MH  _

_ Pretty, too. SH  _

_ You think so? I am afraid I do not have eyes for the fairer sex. MH  _

_ Good. SH  _

\-------------------- --------------------

“I’m hurting you...” Mycroft still, horrified at the thought he could be inflicting pain on the brother he had always wanted to save from any pain.

Sherlock's legs stayed slung around his waist, keeping him firmly in place. “No. Go on. It feels weird but great.”

“We need more lube...”

“No, I’m dripping already, ruining your couch. Just go on. Move. Take me.”

They found their rhythm. Slow. Careful. Mycroft’s head was spinning severely now and it had nothing to do with the punch. He was high on sex, on this incredible feeling in his groin, on Sherlock. His little brother. He moaned when Sherlock's teeth graced the skin of his chin. He was close. Being buried, poking into such tightness, such hot stickiness, Sherlock's scent, his look whenever Mycroft opened his eyes to gaze at him. It was too much.

He managed to rest his weight on one elbow and sneak his hand between their tightly connected bodies, getting hold of Sherlock's hard member. His brother was so responsive. Perhaps he could have come by the prostate stimulation alone but Mycroft wanted them to finish roughly simultaneously.

So he massaged Sherlock while still pounding into him, increasing and deepening his thrusts now, licking the sweat from Sherlock's face.

He tumbled over the edge first, releasing himself into his baby brother, kissing him, plundering his mouth while he heftily jerked him and Sherlock cried out while he was still shuddering through his orgasm, showering Mycroft's hand and his own stomach with hot fluid.

Somehow Mycroft managed to manoeuvre Sherlock on top of him, holding him close. They would soon have to move to get under a blanket; he didn’t have any in reach. But for now, he kept his brother warm with his arms. He could feel Sherlock's heart pounding against his chest.

He stroked over the sweaty curls. “You all right?”

“Very. It was… I have no words. Thank you.”

Mycroft tried not to freeze. He hoped… this wouldn’t have been the only time. How would they go on with each other if this was a one-time-only experience?

Sherlock lifted his head. “Mycroft. I didn’t mean it like this. I want… us. This. More of it. Much more.” He grimaced about his own words. “I can’t...”

“It’s all right. I understand you.” Mycroft smiled and his heart seemed to miss a few beats when the smile was returned. “You are beautiful, little brother. My lover. Mine.”

Sherlock nodded. “Yours. Always. Merry Christmas, Mycroft.”

“Merry Christmas, lover mine."

\-------------------- --------------------

_ John’s gone to his stupid New Year’s Party. Ready? SH  _

_ Of course. Come over, my love. The champagne’s cold.  _ 💖  _MH_

_ And you are hot? SH  _

_ Always, little brother. For you.  _ 😊  _MH_

\-------------------- --------------------

The End


End file.
